The Sins of Religion
by Perfume
Summary: A Leroux influenced story that fictionalizes a moment spent in the small house on the lake. Set somewhere between Christine's first visit to the depths of the Garnier and before the Apollo's Lyre scene.
1. Chapter 1

As the last sounds of the organ died away in the night, Erik's fingers lingered on the keys. He was apprehensive of giving into the silence of the small house on the lake. Normally he embraced the silence; the knowing that the only sounds that came from around his small house was his own.

But he had a visitor.

His eyes pulled away to the hallway and to the closed door to the Louis Philippe room that held the beautiful Christine Daae.

She had returned on her own accord. He did not beg her, he did not drag her. He had given the key to the Rue-Scribe and told her that if she wished to see him, her liberty was in the fate of the key. He was unsure if she was to return since the moment that her eyes beheld his visage.

Yet, he heard the little bell ring, warning him of a visitor approaching through the tunnels. As he stepped out from his house, armed with the lasso and a lantern in his hand, he hardly made it to the entrance of the tunnel before she appeared before him.

She was dressed in a day dress, her head covered with a wrap to hide her face. In her hands was a small basket, which she clutched against her chest.

"Erik," she breathed, "you startled me." She knew what he held in his hands and her eyes never left it.

"Good day, Christine," he replied, hastily putting away his lasso so that the fear would leave her face. "I am sorry I frightened you, but you know Erik must protect himself from the arrival of unwanted visitors."

Christine nodded at this and said nothing. He approached her and fell to his knees at her feet.

"Oh Christine," he murmured, his head dipped low, "you came back to me. Erik was afraid that you would never return."

"I made a promise, Erik," she said kindly, her voice wavering slightly. "I promised to return and here I am."

"Yes," he nodded, "here you are. Erik is very pleased. Very pleased." He stood and looked down at her basket in her hands. "What did you bring, Christine?"

"Little things from my flat Erik," she replied, "that's all."

"Shall I carry your basket, Christine? I would be honored to do so." He was hopeful, anything to make her feel comfortable.

"It is quite all right, Erik," she said, "I can manage." She dropped the basket so that it hung down a little lower and she cradled the handle in both hands. Erik stepped aside and allowed her to pass, and she did with trepidation. He followed her closely so they walked side by side back into his house. He opened the door for her and she stepped in. He closed the door and so the day with Christine began.

As he worked away at his music, he would steal glances at her as she moved about the room. She was dressed in a day dress of violet with her curly blonde hair pulled up in a little kerchief. She was always drawn to her work, as he was to his own. She was organizing his things, her eyes wandering over his vast collection of books and little trinkets that adorned the shelves. Only once did their eyes meet, and he was ashamed of his lingering gaze. She was not afraid of his gaze; on the contrary, she smiled warmly.

When she had finished with her organizing of his shelves, she moved on to the area that surrounded his organ. Discarded on the floor were various bits of music and pieces from _Don Juan Triumphant_. Her fingers picked up each bit of music and began going through them.

"Do not bother with them Christine, you may leave them where they are. Erik will go through them himself." Christine dropped the sheets instantly. She nodded and stood. He was at alert now, afraid that he had hurt her innocent task of cleaning. "But, if Christine would like to go through my music, she is welcome to do so. Erik would not mind."

"It is all right, Erik, I will do something else," she said, moving away from him. Erik turned and watched her as she moved away from him and down the hall into the Louis Philippe room: Her room.

So that was where time had brought them to now. She had not exited the room and supper was approaching. All though he did not eat, he knew that she must be hungry. She always enjoyed the food that he placed before her.

Erik stood up from the organ and turned to make his way to the Louis Philippe room. As he stood outside the door, he felt nervous. Since Christine had spent her first night here, he never once knocked upon her door. It was almost as if he did not want to disturb the peaceful silence.

As he raised his hand to the door, the door opened leaving him stunned. Christine was peeking out through the crack, staring at him.

Finding his voice, he erected his posture and linked his hands behind his back. "It has become rather late. I have forgotten to prepare a meal for you, Christine. I do not want you to starve on account of Erik."

She nodded and slid out from the room. He noticed that she did not open the door any wider and he became instantly suspicious. When she shut the door, he offered her the tips of his fingers which she took. He led her down the hall to the small parlor that was adjoined to the sitting room.

Pulling out her chair he helped to her sit. He left her alone to attend to the food he had in the small pantry he kept stocked for her. He removed a bottle of wine for himself as well. Returning to the table, he laid out the wrapped food items one by one.

"Everything looks delicious," Christine said, looking up at him with a hopeful expression, "will you not join me?"

"I?" Erik asked, finishing organizing the food and starting to unwrap it. "Oh Christine, you know very well that Erik does not eat." He gestured to the wine with a curl of his hand. "I drink wine, and only that."

"Please, Erik," she said, reaching out her hand towards him on the table, "it would make me most happy if you were to eat-just a little-for me."

Erik hesitated in his task, the finally after a few moments he agreed, nodding. "If Christine wishes it, then yes, I shall eat a little to make her happy."

Christine seemed pleased at this, and when Erik had fixed her a plate (and one for himself, but only a little), she waited for him to lift his fork. When he did, she lifted hers. Christine watched as she moved his mask so that he could place a piece of food into his mouth. Erik was staring at her while he did this.

"Erik," she said quietly, "you may remove your mask in my presence."

He placed his fork back down on his plate, staring at Christine with a cold expression. "You know very well what lies behind this mask Christine. Erik's face is not a face meant for a dinner table, even as crude as this one. Nor would he allow Christine to look upon a face that gave her so much torment."

"I know very well what I am asking you, Erik. This table has been laid out for me, and as a guest and the only sole person at this time, I wish to look upon my host's face."

Erik was surprised by her stern tone and her reliance to his words. "Christine must eat her own dinner, for Erik will eat his—just to please Christine!" He lifted his fork and the corner of his mask and placed a piece of his dinner into his mouth.

Christine said nothing more but returned to her food with her eyes fixed ahead and never upon him again. When Erik had finished eating all the food on his plate, he waited for Christine to finish her own, hoping that she would look upon him again.

"Christine should not be upset with Erik," he said chidingly, "It is for her own good." Christine twitched in her chair, but Erik continued on: "So, Christine, the evening is ours to do as we please. Any request I shall fulfill."

When she had finished her food, she stared at him and dabbed at her mouth with her napkin. When finished, she began coldly: "Erik, your promises are as empty. I shall retire to my room for the remainder of the evening." With that, she stood and left the room, leaving Erik alone.

* * *

><p>It was fear that remained in the back of her mind as she continued her stay at Erik's home. Christine knew that for whatever reason, no matter what she did, Erik would never harm her. She knew that he felt for her, and had feelings for her for quite some time.<p>

It was a twisted world that she now lived in. She knew the secret of the Angel of Music, and she knew the identity of the Opera Ghost. The fact that she was the blind obsession of both of them was the reason why she was so frightened.

Now in the depths of the Opera Garnier, she was alone with the very man that had control over the entire opera house by just a mere letter. She only wondered how many letters went out in according to the plans he had for her.

She was sure that Raoul would be looking for her. Poor Raoul, she thought as she leaned against the door of her bedroom. Leaving the door she moved to the bed and sat there thinking about her dear friend. She wished that she could look upon his face, on any face for that matter, which was why she was so adamant on wanting Erik to remove his mask.

She knew of the face that was hidden behind the plain black mask. The face that lingered in the back of her mind every time she spoke to him or caught his eyes watching her as she moved around the house. She could not believe that such a face could exist. And yet, she was willing to look upon it again.

Perhaps the reason of looking behind the mask was to show Erik that she was not afraid, but determined to have him treat her as if he had nothing to fear.

Christine looked to the small clock beside her bed and took notice that the time. Standing up, she moved to the wardrobe that held the many dresses that Erik had purchased for her. She always felt afraid of wearing them, though she could not picture why. Choosing her nightdress and a dressing gown, she carried them over to the scrim to undress for sleep.

When she had finished, she moved to the vanity to the small basket that she had brought from her flat. She removed a small book and hastened to the bed to begin her prayers.

During her reading, a single knock sounded at her door. She wanted to resist allowing him in, but she could not. For if she did not let him in, she was sure that the following days she would spend in the small house would be filled of his moans and ever lingering want to please her more than before.

"You may enter," she said, closing the book of prayers on her finger to mark her place.

Erik entered. The way he moved across the ground, his long legs and his lean figure making him look like a specter, a figment of the shadows. Being entirely dressed in an evening dress of black to complement his black mask was a frightening sight.

When he came to her bedside, he looked down upon her. His eyes caught sight of her small book of prayers. She was sure his lips twisted into a smile behind the fabric.

"Is that a book of your own, Christine?" A simple question coming from him, for she was certain he was going to ask if she was angry with him.

"Yes," she said, "it is my prayer book," she replied, her other hand brushing over her book. "It is very dear to me. I noticed that you own not a prayer book in your collection so I took it upon myself to bring my own."

He chuckled. "That is because Erik does not believe in God."

Christine found this absurd. "Erik, why do you not believe in God?"

What a question to ask him, for his eyes burned into hers. "Surely a man like God would not allow a man like I to live a life with a face like this." He turned away from her, pacing around her bed. "His teachings are immoral, archaic to a culture that does not respond to such simple minded words."

Christine was stunned. "Is that what you believe?"

"Yes," he said, looking at her, softening his gaze just a little. "But I can see that Christine has precious feelings when it comes to God that makes him very dear to her."

"How easily that has slipped your mind, Erik! You used my devotion to religion as my weakness."

He became shocked. She had caught him. "Erik does not wish for Christine to think of it like that."

"But you did," she said, clutching the edges of her book tightly. "You listened to me speak to my father during my prayers." Christine's eyes became soft as she thought back upon her moments when she first believed that Erik was her Angel of Music. "I was so alone, so frightened, I prayed so often back then."

"Erik," she said, her eyes focusing back on him again, "I would like an apology for your words."

Erik crossed his arms. "Oh? And I suppose that the reason is that I declared there is no God?"

"No," she whispered, "it does not matter—to you—if there is a God or if there isn't, I am talking about what you said when it came to people who listen to the words of the Lord. It was as if you were calling them 'simple minded' themselves! If you believe so then I, too, am simple minded. And if you cared even just a little for me, no matter how you feel about the subject of God, you will apologize."

Erik clutched his hands tightly around the shoulders of his crossed arms. He looked away from her, conflicted. Christine waited.

"Erik forgets that Christine does not understand Erik. Does not understand his life, his _reasons_…" He dropped his arms after one last tight squeeze to his shoulders. Turning back to her, he approached the bed and fell to his knees. "Erik apologizes, to Christine, for to have her upset—even as a guest in his home—is not something Erik cannot have. Does not want to have, for he hopes Christine will be happy here."

Christine gingerly lifted her hand and placed her hand on the wig that covered his hair and she felt him flinch. He quickly stood and hurried away from her, his eyes shooting dangerous glances.

"Christine was going to touch Erik's mask! Christine has learned once _**never**_ to touch Erik's mask ever again!"

Christine shook her head. "No Erik, I wasn't going to touch your mask! I only meant to touch you, to forgive you."

Erik took in her words, weighing them carefully in his mind. "Christine… was to accept Erik's apology?"

"Yes."

Erik eyed her for a long moment. Then finally, he approached her again. Getting down on one knee, he gingerly placed his head on the mattress of her bed, with his hands clutching the sheets. "Erik, then, shall apologize for causing Christine alarm."

"You are forgiven, Erik," she said. "Now, it is late, I would like to… finish my prayers and retire for the night." Erik raised his head to look up into her eyes.

"Yes, Christine wants to pray, and so Erik will take his leave." He stood, and made his way to the door of her room. Erik lingered at the door for a moment, his eyes looking down upon the small desk at the side of the door. Christine realized he was staring at the inkwell.

Besides the book, she had also brought a few sheets of paper and an inkwell. She had not seen any the last time she was in the house, so she had brought her own.

"This… isn't mine," he said, his fingers touching the desk next to the inkwell.

"Of course not, Erik," she said matter-of-factually, "I brought it from my flat."

Erik continued to stare at the inkwell for a moment longer, and then left the room closing the door behind him.

Christine turned to the last page of her book of prayers and inside was a letter she had begun to write. She only hoped that Erik had not suspected her. But, when it came to Erik, she knew him only too well that she had everything to fear.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note:** Sorry this took forever to finish! I do hope you like the second part of the story. Once again, borrowed from Leroux. His Erik shall always be my favorite.

* * *

><p>Christine had a restless sleep. After Erik's notice of the inkwell, she was afraid that he would find the letter that was hidden within her prayer book. A letter addressed to Raoul. It was an innocent letter, but a letter that spoke of her reasons for not being at her flat (which she was sure he was going to visit, or had already visited).<p>

Erik had not returned to the room at all during the night. She was certain that as long as she stayed in the room it became her own personal domain within his house. _"Erik will never enter your room unless he knocks and Christine bides him to enter,_" he had told her. And he had never gone against that promise.

When morning had come, she took her bath and dressed for the breakfast that Erik would have prepared for her. Giving one last check at the prayer book beneath the pillow, she left the room and moved down the hall to the little lounge. Taking in the empty surroundings, she saw Erik was nowhere to be found. Normally Erik would leave her a letter if he would have gone out, but she remembered seeing not a one in her room.

She looked back down the hall to his room, the room that he had showed her when she was first brought to the house. Could Erik be in there? Turning down the hall, she went to the door of his room and knocked twice on the door.

"Erik," she said, waiting for a reply. There was no response. She knocked again. "Erik?" When there was no response, she reached for the handle of the door.

"Erik is awake, Christine," she heard him say, causing her to jump away from the doorknob as it was dangerous. She looked down the hall to see him, dressed in the same suit and mask, calmly leaning up against the wall.

"I'm sorry, Erik," she said, "I became worried when I couldn't find you. It was so silent in the house, and I thought—

"That I had gone out," he said, making his way to her. "Erik has been preparing breakfast, for you. Will you eat?"

She nodded. "I am hungry," she said, making her way to him. He nodded and when she approached him, they walked side by side to the small table he had set up for her, as he did for dinner.

"How was your sleep, Christine? Did your prayers help you?"

She wondered if his words were meant as an insult, but he seemed quite genuine. "My prayers are like a blanket for my thoughts, Erik. I slept well." A lie.

"Does Christine think often? Does she think…does she feel uneasy here?"

"No," Christine said, "not at all, Erik. You do everything to make me so comfortable here that I have no reason to feel uneasy." It was another lie, but she was sure that Erik could hardly tell.

"I am pleased, Christine," he said, pulling out her chair and helping her sit. "Erik hopes that the more you stay, the more you will feel _at home_."

"Oh?" Christine asked, intrigued. Erik began to place things on the plate he had prepared for her.

"Yes," he said, "Erik believes Christine will be quite at home here, as long as she is happy."

Placing the plate down before her, he moved to take his seat at the table. He watched her, like usual, picking up her food and eating it. She decided to make an innocent conversation with him.

"How was your sleep, Erik?"

"Erik hardly sleeps, but last night, he did sleep a little. I slept like the dead, if you would pardon my morbidity."

Christine could not forget that his bed was a black silk lined coffin. He had told her that _one must be accustomed to sleeping in the place where one will soon lie_. Of course, it frightened her, but it was only Erik who slept in the coffin and she had no means of visiting his room. That was, until this morning when she almost entered without permission.

"I hope that you will join me in song today Christine. You have neglected your lessons the past two days."

"Of course, Erik," she replied. She took a sip from the glass of milk that was beside her plate.

"They are to begin the opera, Faust. The story is weak at points, but the music. Oh, Christine, the music shall be divine. As long as that _woman_ does not take the role of Marguerite," as he said this, his eyes flashed to Christine, "for that role belongs to you and you only."

"You are very kind to me, Erik, but I am –

"Do you think Erik does not know greatness? Do you think that I chose your voice to remain in the depths of the opera, wasting away on silly little stanzas?" He chuckled. "No, my dear Christine, you were meant for much greater things. Erik once promised that you will have Paris at your feet. And this is true! You will not only have them at your feet, but you will possess each of their very souls." His hands were clenched into fists, which flexed as he spoke. Christine could not take her eyes from them.

"You, you think so highly of me, Erik," she murmured, her thoughts coming back to her first performance. What he spoke of was true. She had to be blind to not see the papers that he had collected that spoke of her performance and the praise that surrounded it.

"I _created_ you, Christine. Like your God, I can create things too!" Erik said triumphantly, gesturing to the heavens. Christine watched him, unable to form a single sentence in response. He looked back to her, stood and then came to her side.

"Erik spoke to your God last night, Christine."

"You… you prayed, Erik?"

"Erik did not pray, he asked…" he was at a loss for words, but his left hand draped over his right and removed a small ring that was around his pinky finger. "He asked the Lord to give him this one happiness." He fell to a knee in an instant, holding the ring out to Christine.

Christine looked at the ring, dumbfounded. She did not know what to say, so she continued to stare into his hopeful eyes.

"Erik knows how tradition is honored when taking a bride. One must ask the father. I assumed, since Christine speaks to her father and the Lord, Erik should speak to the Lord as well. He begged and pleaded, for the Lord to see some goodness in him, and that Christine would see that goodness and accept him."

"But of course," he chuckled, looking down at the plain gold band, "it is certainly not a ring of nobility or a ring meant for a hand as delicate as yours. Nevertheless, Erik hopes that you will… accept this." He raised his eyes to meet hers once more, waiting for an answer.

Christine was torn. "Erik…did you really…pray?"

"Praying is something Erik knows little of but assumes that he did it quite well," he replied, the band still held in his outstretched hand. The moments were dragging on, and his hand was beginning to shake. "Christine…"

What could she do? With his eyes intently upon her, any gesture or sign of dismissal would bring forth a rage that she had only seen once before. She dared not to experience that again.

"Erik," she said slowly, moving her hand to eclipse his thin one, "I…I'm afraid I must think upon it."

The look in his eyes moved her. "But, you have not dismissed me! You are contemplating accepting, yes? Oh, Christine, think upon it, consider your Erik." He stood up, tucking the ring back into the pocket of his waistcoat. "Yes, consider it, and then make your decision! Erik will wait!" He looked over to his right, his eyes widening. "Lessons, Christine! Come, we must practice!"

She was safe for the moment but she knew that eventually she must give him an answer. One that perhaps not even God would save her for.

* * *

><p>After lessons, he announced that they were going out. He had been in high spirits after his proposal. However, she felt a twinge of dread. She never gave an answer, and she was quite sure this outing was meant for one.<p>

"Dress warmly, Christine," he said, "we don't want your voice to be affected by the night air."

She nodded and retreated to her room. Once inside and with the door closed, she closed her eyes and whispered a silent prayer.

_Please, Lord, give me strength and guidance._

Moving away from the door, she went to the closet for her cloak. Slipping the cloak over her shoulders, she gazed at her reflection in the mirror, the only mirror within the home. She looked down at her prayer book, wondering if a small prayer would be best.

It then came to her, her prayer book not only had her strength, it had her comfort as well. She picked it up and slipped the letter out from behind the last page. Quickly grabbing her pen and inkwell from the basket, she hastily scribbled Raoul's title. A plan was concocting her mind.

It was not long after that she had tucked the letter in her sleeve; she hurried from her room with her hood drawn. Erik stood at the end of the hall, cloaked and his hat drawn low to hide his mask. He unfurled his hand to her. She made sure to grab it with the arm that did not conceal the letter.

They went the way she had come, exiting out of the Rue Scribe near the stables. She watched him as he was calculating their next move. His eyes went to front of the Garnier as a brougham was approaching. With a gentle pull, he urged them to the main court. As the brougham approached, he hailed it down. The driver clambered down and opened the door for the both of them.

"The Bois," Erik said, giving the driver the money, and more. The driver tipped his hat and went to offer his hand to Christine. Erik eyed him as he offered his hand to Christine instead. Christine gave a small glance to the driver to apologize. As soon as they both were inside the carriage it started to move.

"There now," he said, gazing to Christine, "isn't this pleasant?"

"Yes," she said, "it is. Thank you, Erik."

If he offered her a smile she could not tell behind the mask. She looked out over the city, watching the night settle in. She could feel his eyes gazing at her and it seemed that her thoughts were bare to him. Did he know what she wanted to do? Did he know what she was going to say?

As she tried to focus on the faces in the night, she caught sight of one in familiar that she never thought she would see: Raoul.

He stood on the corner of the street, his eyes distant and unfocused. As soon as the brougham pulled up beside him, his eyes glanced briefly to the window. Their eyes locked. He pushed his blonde hair away from his eye s, blinking quickly, almost not believing that she was in front of him.

She wanted to scream, she wanted to say something. And yet, she could do _something_. She had thought about throwing the letter concealed in her sleeve out the window and to hope some passerby would read the name and deliver it. But now…

She pretended to not see him, acknowledge him. Unfortunately, he made it very clear he noticed her. He started running after the carriage. She started drawing the letter from her sleeve, brushing her fingers over the edge of the envelope.

"Christine!" He called, hoping to elicit a response from her.

Erik stirred next to her, called out for the driver to go faster. The carriage began to speed up, creating distance. Raoul could not keep up, but he kept calling her name.

"Christine!"

Before she could give another glance out at the window, Erik pulled her against the seat. His eyes behind the mask were serious. His eyes then went to her fingers, which were trying to hide the letter.

Caught, she was caught. She could not look away from his eyes, which seemed to hold a strange sense of delight. She slowly pulled the letter out from her sleeve, laying it in her lap.

"Go on Christine," he urged her, his voice soft and humored. "Give the Vicomte your letter, the one that you're trying so desperately to hide from Erik's eyes."

How did he know the letter was for him? She was so careful, she was so sure he had not the slightest idea that a letter was even concealed. Nothing could escape Erik, unfortunately.

When she did not answer him, and the letter continued to lie in her lap, she wondered if he was going to read it. Did he not want to see what was written inside? He removed his hand from her wrist and continued to stare at her, urging her,_ challenging _her to toss the letter out of the window.

She could not win, not throwing it out of the window or throwing it out of the window, he discovered her motive. So, with a shaky hand, she raised the letter to the window and dropped it. It was gone, lost to the streets. She slowly placed her hand in her lap, not bothering to look back into his eyes.

He was displeased with her, for they never did make it to the Bois. He treated her as if she was a child, a pet even… as if he was displeased by her actions and now it was time to punish her. She was quite afraid of what he would do. She could not fathom the thought as they returned to the Garnier and he escorted her from the carriage. His grip was tight around her wrist, but became increasingly tighter the closer they got to his home.

It seemed forever when they finally reached his house and the door closed behind her. He took his hat and removed it very slowly, along with his cloak. He discarded them on the chair casually, as if nothing ever happened. She remained rooted, waiting for him to say something. It was almost as if he had forgotten about her.

He then began to laugh, a slow laugh that got increasingly louder until it almost seemed to echo around them. She wanted to clasp her hands to her ears, to block out the sound, but she continued to stand erect. His eyes went to her. "So, what does God do to a sinner?" He pondered humorously.

She was lost for words. "He forgives them," she answered back, a twinge of fear bleeding through her words.

He seemed even more delighted by her answer. "Ah! That is where I find fault with your God." His laughter died now to a chuckle. "He _forgives_ them, though he warns them that sinning is not something that one must do. Isn't that so?"

"You are right," she replied. "However, one can redeem themselves through prayer and acts of kindness."

His laughter started up again, he strode over to her and grabbed her wrist, flinging her into the middle of the room so that she landed upon her knees.

"This is no chapel," he said, "my house was never one for _prayers_, but Christine brought her _prayers_ into my home. Surely she has no qualms with more! Come, pray Christine, pray for your Vicomte! Pray for your Erik! Pray…"

Her throat was dry. Was she sorry? No, she was not, but she was going to pray. "Please Erik," she began, shakily bringing her fingers to the hood of her cloak, drawing it down from her hair. "Please, don't hurt him."

"You're not praying!" He hissed at her. "Bring your hands together, Christine… those hands that sinned!"

She brought her hands together, pressing them against another tightly. He strode to the high backed chair that was directly in front of her and fell down in it, his gloved fingers clenching around the arm rests in a rhythm.

"You see, Christine," he said after a few moments of more silence, "Erik may pray to God, but in the end, he will always be a sinner. A demon unfit for heaven. God never listens to Erik, never has and never will." He bent forward in his chair, his face closer to her. She was so sure he was going to remove his mask. "But Christine was an angel, or so Erik believed. She was a pure child."

"Erik—

"SILENCE, CHRISTINE," he bellowed, pounding his hand on the arm of the chair. "And now your Vicomte has your letter, the letter that Christine tried to hide from Erik. Christine won't tell what was in the letter, and Erik won't ask. For he knows everything…" His lips twisted into a smile behind the mask, she was sure, she could see the crinkle in the fabric. "Erik proposed to Christine, Erik prayed to God!" He removed the ring from his pocket, twisting it between his pointer finger and thumb. "Now, Christine, Erik has a new proposal: you will accept the ring, wear it around your finger, that way, Erik will always know you mean to be faithful."

Christine looked at the simple band and then back at Erik. Before she could ask the question, Erik continued:

"If you do not wear the ring or if you lose it, then Erik will know…and, Erik knows _everything_. We do not want to see what will happen if Erik discovers your ring missing, no!" He chuckled. "Indeed!" He outstretched his hand, holding the ring out to her.

She took the ring and slipped it on her finger with a shaky hand. Looking back up at him, she could see that he was pleased. Still, his eyes held a curious expression.

"Please, don't hurt him," she whispered. "It was just a letter, Erik."

"And Judas betrayed Jesus with a kiss," he whispered coldly. "You are never safe from sin."


End file.
